


Ascension

by paperlesscrown



Series: behind closed doors: a bughead canon sex series [3]
Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: 2.22, Communicative Bughead, Extended Scene, F/M, Fluff, NSFW, Smut, Steamy Bughead
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-30
Updated: 2018-05-30
Packaged: 2019-05-16 03:51:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,488
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14803836
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paperlesscrown/pseuds/paperlesscrown
Summary: Jughead takes Betty away for the night - away from darkness, away from the bedlam of Riverdale. Alone at last, and renewed in their love and commitment to each other, they scale the heights of emotion, intimacy and pleasure.





	Ascension

Despite the extravagant title, Jughead concluded that being the so-called Serpent King actually didn’t have as many perks as the position implied.

Sure, the leader of the Serpents had the entire Southside network at his fingertips: every home gladly welcomed the Serpent King, and there was always a warm meal and a spare bed to be found anywhere. And he supposed that unfettered access to all the alcohol at the Whyte Wyrm – in particular, a prized bottle of potent worm tequila reserved exclusively for the gang’s head honcho – was _something._ But the Whyte Wyrm was Hiram’s now, and so too was its drink stash. 

No, beyond that, there really wasn’t much else – no financial gain, no material advantage. The Southside Serpents weren’t some well-run organisation like the Hell’s Angels. They were a bunch of petty thieves, small-time criminals and scrappy survivors who tried to make the best of their lot in life, and basically built a sense of fraternity around that. Any money that flowed through the gang went right back into keeping the Southside community afloat. None of it ever made its way to the Serpent King’s hands.

Tonight, however, as Jughead stood in the lobby of the Five Seasons Hotel, his arm wrapped around Betty’s waist, he thought, _Well, I suppose_ this _counts as a perk._

Not that the Serpents paid for his hotel escapade or anything. He himself had scrimped and saved enough money for one night at the hotel with Betty over months of doing odd technical support jobs around the trailer park - mostly retrieving forgotten passwords and installing Netflix for elderly grandmothers, who always insisted on paying him with cash and cookies. Even then, he’d been aware of the fact that the swish establishment had an unspoken (but well-known) bias against the Southside, which prevented them from ever staying at or even working for the hotel. Booking the room was always going to be an issue. Fortunately, Wolfspeak Topaz, a young genius Serpent and one of Toni’s cousins, solved Jughead’s problem by hacking into the reservations system and securing them a modest suite for the night – his own personal tribute to the newly appointed Serpent King.

“Well, Mister Jones,” the concierge started, his lips drawn into a tight, thin smile, “it seems as though my earlier assumption was incorrect. It looks like we do have a reservation for you and... ah, Miss--?”

“Pendleton,” Betty replied, her smile serene and confident. “Elizabeth Pendleton.”

Jughead froze at the sound of his middle name. He must have looked comical, because the concierge gave him a funny look while Betty remained staunchly nonchalant, committed to her alias for the night. He quickly arranged his face into an expression of indifference, trying to appear as casual as possible. Even then, he could have sworn that the hotel lobby was echoing with the sound of his heart rampantly hammering against his ribcage.

What was she doing, taking his middle name and making it hers? His mind buzzed with the possibilities, until he gradually realised - _Hal._ Of course. Betty wanted to avoid being linked by name to her father, just as she wanted to avoid going to school and being labelled a serial killer’s daughter. That made perfect sense.

Still. It did things to him - hearing his name adorning her own, its cadence leaping so easily off her tongue.

“Miss Pendleton, right. There must have been a glitch in our system.” The concierge sighed, seeming to concede the point. “And Mister Jones, you’re paying for the room with _cash_ , I suppose?

“That’s right,” Jughead replied, trying his best to ignore the contempt in the man’s voice.

The concierge kept up a stony face, typing for a few more moments before unceremoniously handing Jughead a key card. “Check-out is at noon,” he said in a clipped tone that implied that he wanted them out much sooner than that. “You’ll find your room on the fourth floor. Any questions?”

Jughead was about to reply in the negative, wanting to get out of there as soon as possible, when Betty spoke up. “Yes, actually,” she said. “What was your name again?”

“My name?”

Betty smiled – a smile both lethal and sweet. “I’ll be needing it for my write-up on the Five Seasons that I’ll be sending in to the _Greendale Gazette._ I’m sure they’d be _very_ interested in what a freelance reporter has to say about a rival town that’s going to be struggling to attract tourists after the recent riots.” The concierge visibly gulped. “Now, I’m thinking ‘ _Elitist Riverdale Hotel Shows Clear Anti-Southside Bias_ ’ for a headline. Do you think that’s catchy enough?”

It took an almighty effort for Jughead not to laugh out loud. The concierge was taken aback. “Miss, I--”

“Look, we’ve both had one hell of a week. Our money’s as good as anyone else’s. You can either treat us with some decency or find yourself on the wrong end of an angry Serpent protest in two days’ time.”

“Of… of course,” he stuttered. “My apologies, Miss Pendleton. Might I, um, send up a bottle of champagne in recompense?”

“Throw in some scented candles and it might even be a favourable profile. ‘ _Riverdale Establishment Continues Its Tradition Of Excellence_.’ How ‘bout that?”

“Done,” he replied quickly. “Shall I, uh, call someone to help with your bags…?.    

“We can find our own way there,” Betty said pleasantly. “Thank you for your time, _Benjamin_.” And of course, she already knew his name: she’d spied it on his badge. She was just dropping it in casually, making sure he knew she wasn’t kidding around.

 _My girlfriend is an absolute boss,_ Jughead thought.

As the elevator doors closed on them, he pulled her in for a kiss. “You are incredible, you know that?”

Betty smiled and looked up at him. “I’m not the one who’s putting us up in a fancy hotel room for the night, Jug.”

He laughed. “That’s true,” he replied. “Why’d you do it, anyway? You didn’t need to stand up to the guy.”

“Because it’s not right, what he’s doing,” Betty said adamantly. “This is where it starts, Jug. The civil war that’s exploded these past few days? The way that Hiram’s been able to take advantage of it all? It starts with people like _him_ \- his biases and prejudices against someone like you, against the entire Southside. And I won’t have it. Enough is enough. This town is messed up as it is.”

Jughead’s gaze softened as he took her in – this warrior of a girl who’d endured hell in the last few months, who’d been victimised by her own father in ways that he couldn’t even comprehend, and yet still somehow found the courage tonight to stand up in defence of him and the Southside.

His reverie was interrupted as the elevator doors opened to their room floor. Betty slipped her hand into his almost shyly as they walked down the hallway, and suddenly he was reminded of what they were here for - a night alone together, away from the burning turmoil of their town.

“Is this us?” she asked as they came up to their room.

“Sure is,” he replied, scanning the key card. The door made a soft clicking noise. “Room 410.”

She touched his arm right as he turned the doorknob. “Hey, Jug? Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For all of this. For tonight.”

He smiled at her. “Betts, tonight hasn’t even started.”

“I know. But it’s already been amazing. ‘Cause I’m with you.”

Jughead’s heart soared. His mind too full for trite replies, so he merely kissed her in return. He thought of the way his name sounded earlier, intertwined with hers. _Elizabeth Pendleton._ It wasn’t quite Elizabeth Jones (not that he’d never thought of that), but it still filled him with pride to know how easily it came to her, to tie their names together.

He opened the door. The lights switched on automatically, bathing the decadent room in a soft ambient glow. Betty bounded in happily. “Jug,” she said, her voice giddy with excitement, “we’re here.”

Jughead took pause at that word. _Here._ It meant something more to him now, days removed from his near-death, from getting beaten up to within an inch of his life. He was _here,_ conscious and alive and breathing.

And as Betty grabbed his hand and pulled him, laughing, into the room, he thought, _goddamn._ He wasn’t just here. He was lucky. He got to be with _her._

…

Jughead and Betty were lovers, but they were also teenagers. And so while the sensual promise of the night ahead lingered over their heads, they spent the first few minutes giddy at the fact that they were alone in a room fancier than either of them had ever stayed in. He gleefully raided the mini-bar (inflated prices be damned) while she ooh-ed and ahh-ed at the sheer size of the bathtub.

He couldn’t quite remember how they ended up jumping on the bed. Did she start it? Doubtless, her mother would’ve disapproved as she was growing up, and so the allure of a large, fluffy bed would have proved too tempting to resist. Or perhaps it had been him, who at 12 years of age had already grown too tall for bed-jumping in the low ceilings of the trailer (his father gave him a stinging smack when he broke the ceiling fan). Or maybe it was simply the taste of freedom, the sheer relief at the fact that they were here, that they were together, and that they were safe (the last few months had barely united all three). Whatever it was, they were soon laughing hysterically at themselves as they jumped up and down on the bed, its springs squeaking in protest.

Sure, it was ridiculous and juvenile and foolish. Months ago, he would have cringed at this - the two of them looking like the type of romantic comedy cliche he would have been nauseated by during his time at the drive-in. But that was before the Black Hood ( _Hal,_ Jughead corrected himself) tore the fabric of their town, renting it apart, exposing the dark undercurrent beneath. It was in that darkness that he and Betty had forgotten the simple, uncomplicated buoyancy of being in love. And it was here that he felt some of it beginning to return.

He didn’t even realise that he’d stopped jumping, lost in his silent musings. Betty stopped too, breathless and smiling. “Hey,” she said. “You okay?”

Was he? His body still bore evidence of his beating, his scars only just healing. His mind was still there, at night when he dreamt of shadows and the raining of fists and snarling, painted faces.

His heart, however...

“Jug?”

It was always with _her_. This defiant ray of light that reminded him that there was life outside of Riverdale’s murk.

“Yeah,” he replied, a little dazed. “Never better.”

And with one swift motion, he closed the gap between their bodies, and kissed her into oblivion.

…

Jughead pulled Betty down onto the bed only moments after, his hands wandering all over, his mouth feverish and desperate on hers. The knowledge that they were alone for the night was liberating. Shirts were quickly and gracelessly discarded: hers got caught under her chin as he lifted it a little too enthusiastically, and they laughed at that, and Jughead remembered how good it felt to laugh.

He pulled away, leaning back against the pillows to appreciate the sight - her skin bare except for a green, gossamer-thin bra that somehow held her in. “This is new,” he murmured appreciatively as he reached around to undo the clasp, but she stopped him.

Jughead looked at her, confused. Betty smiled, looking down, inviting his eyes to follow. His mouth went dry as he finally saw it: two delicate cords, knotted tightly into a ribbon - the only thing keeping her tits from tumbling loose.

“It opens at the front,” she said.

He swallowed thickly. “I can see that.”

“I thought you might, you know, appreciate the easier access.”

“Whoa, hey,” he said, pulling away, pretending to be offended. “I’m pretty good at undoing that clasp thing on your bras.”

“I’d say you’re getting there,” she replied diplomatically.

“I don’t know,” he said with a grin, drawing her up onto his lap, “I think I’d be pretty good at undoing this one.” He gave a sharp tug, and the whole thing came apart easily.

“Okay, that doesn’t count.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t care.” He smiled as he leaned forward, his mouth meeting her neck, his hands taking the flimsy garment off her shoulders before sliding down to grope and knead her full, bare breasts. Betty let out a rush of breath and leaned back, her hands resting on the bed behind her, giving him full access. “God, Betts. I’ve missed this.”

She sighed happily. “Me, too.”

He bent down and took her into his mouth, sucking hard, grazing her nipple with his teeth just the way he knew she liked. Her back arched up, pushing her breast deeper into his mouth, as if pleading for him to take her, then and there.

Jughead took the hint. He pulled back and tugged at her jeans. “Take these off.”

“Yours, too,” she whispered back.

When they were finally, fully naked, they lay down facing each other, kissing in a slow, languid haze. This, too, was different; they had very little private time together, and between the oppressive Cooper household and the too-thin walls of the Jones trailer, they didn’t get much of a chance to relish their time together.

Tonight, however, had a distinct, leisurely pace. Jughead took his time exploring her body. He never tired of it and its lush geography - the soft pillow of her lips, the deep hollows of her collarbone, the dip of her waist, the elevated swell of her breasts.

But Betty was getting impatient. All of a sudden, she wrapped her leg around his, bringing their bodies close together, her wet velvet warmth flush against his tumescence. Jughead groaned at the heat of their contact. She pushed her hips forward towards his.

He cupped her face. “What do you want, Betty?”

“You,” she whispered, her hips now bucking towards his, as his erection pressed up against her folds. “Jug. I want you.”

“No,” he said firmly. “Tell me _exactly_ what you want from me.”

Betty stared right back at him, matching his bravado, cheeks flush, eyes dilated. “I want you to make me come, Jug.”

“Good,” he murmured, his lips tracing her cheek. “Now tell me how.”

To his surprise, she took his hand before lowering it down to the aching throb between her legs. “Like this.”

A switch went off in his head, his vision tunnelling only to her. His fingers traced her entrance, lightly at first, before lingering and working her clit. She was so wet, so desperate for release that he knew instinctively that this wasn’t going to last long. His finger slowly curled into her entrance before building up a quick rhythm, pumping slickly in and out of her as she rode hard against his hand. As she hooked one leg over his shoulder to take his finger in deeper, he knew straightaway - this was over.

It didn’t take long. With a sharp gasp, Betty threw her head back against the bed, her nails marking deep red lines into Jughead’s shoulders. The sounds coming out of her were building to an unholy crescendo, raw and utterly depraved. She thrust her hips through the crescendo, drawing her orgasm out, riding each wave until her body gave out.

She lay still in his arms after, her legs still twitching slightly at the adrenaline rush. Jughead leaned down to kiss her gently. “You okay?”

Betty could only nod wordlessly. He laughed.

“That good, huh?”

She laughed and shook her head. “Yes, Smughead Jones.” Reaching up, she kissed him on the chin. “Thank you, by the way. I needed that.”

“I know.”

“You _know?_ Really?”

“Yeah.”

“How?”

“I just…” Jughead shrugged. “I just know _you_ , I guess.”

Betty’s eyes softened, taking him in for a few motionless seconds. He thought she was going to kiss him until she rolled over him and gently pushed him down onto the bed. “Lie back,” she said.

“What are you doing?”

Betty said nothing, only took a hair tie off her wrist with her teeth, which, for some bizarre reason, was the sexiest thing Jug had ever seen. And then it registered why: she was tying up her hair to keep it out of the way, right before --

_Is she really…?_

Jughead’s hopes were confirmed by the sight of Betty naked and on all fours, the warm softness of her tongue slowly working his shaft. He closed his eyes, wanting to preserve that image forever. “Betts. Oh, my god.”

She stayed there for a while before crawling up to kiss the dark trail of his stomach. Her breasts - firm and pert, and yet somehow so soft - brushed up against his hardened length, and it caused something to surge in him.

“Hey,” he whispered raggedly. “Can you… can you stay there for a while?”

She looked down at the sight of his member nestled between her breasts. “Here?” she asked, before glancing up at him with a smirk. “You like this?”

“Um, yes. Dangerously so.”

Experimentally, she bobbed up and down against him, pressing the full, voluptuous weight of her tits against his cock. “How about that?”

“Yeah,” he panted. “Fuck. Keep going.”

The constant rubbing motion was starting to make him lose every train of thought. He could feel a storm churning in the pit of his stomach. The hardened peaks of her nipples grazed his skin and it snapped him slightly of his daze. He looked down at Betty - her hair up in a messy bun, loose tendrils framing her face, her lips parted, her eyes veiled over with desire. “You wanna come for me, Jug?” she asked, her voice low and alluring.

 _That_ nearly pushed him over the edge. “Betts, what about… I mean, after…”

“Let me take care of that,” she said before pressing her tits more urgently against him. A deep groan rumbled in his throat. He was nearly there.

But all coherent thought dissolved as Betty pulled away and unexpectedly plunged her mouth down onto him. Jughead nearly leapt off the bed in shock. There was no time to interrupt or ask questions or even think or breathe - she worked him up and down, licking and sucking and ravishing every pulsating inch. All too quickly, heat coursed through his body, sudden and chaotic as whitewater rapids. One blinding moment, and with a cry, he shuddered and emptied himself into her mouth.

He lay still for a while, his mind confounded by lust. Betty slid her mouth off, sucking him clean before pressing a sweet, chaste kiss on the inside of his thigh. “You okay?”

“Fuck, Betts,” he managed to breath out. Then, nothing. He was in primal mode, unable to formulate words.

She smirked. “That good, huh?”

Jughead burst out laughing at her conscious echoing of his earlier line. His body was listless and gloriously exhausted, but with some effort, he managed to pull her up to his chest and hold her close, kissing the top of her head. Betty sighed in contentment before nestling her head beneath the crook of his arm and pulling the covers up over their bodies. Neither of them said anything more. There was no need to. These days, their silences were no longer the repressive burden of secrets, but instead the comfortable second skin of two people in complete harmony and accord with each other.

Jughead felt her breathing slow to a steady rhythm, her body softening into slumber. They were both spent. Resting his head against hers, he tumbled right after her into a blissful sleep.

...

He was startled back into wakefulness by Betty moving against him.

Jughead had always been a terrible sleeper. It was a habit formed after years of looking after himself - of keeping his ear trained to every little sound in case someone broke into his makeshift quarters at the drive-in, or back home in the trailer, in case FP or Gladys left in the middle of the night and he needed to keep Jellybean asleep.

When Betty lived in the Jones trailer during her exodus from the Cooper horror house, his sleep got even worse. But he had never been happier. He’d wait all night, listening out for FP’s telltale snore reverberating down the hall before softly treading his way back into his room, opening the door, and sliding in between the sheets to quietly and urgently make love to her.

There really was a perverse kind of joy in hiding and the possibility of being caught - stifled giggles under the duvet, stumbling around to look for his clothes on the floor, last kisses through the door before he had to rush back to the couch, where he was sleeping. Those nights, which had been far too few, held some of the best memories of their time together so far.

But there was something to be said for the unhurried rhythm of tonight - the way he could hold her and lie next to her and look at her for as long as he wanted, just as he was doing now, without worrying about someone barging through the door and interrupting them.

 _I want more of this,_ he thought. _I want more of_ her.

Betty stirred again and sighed in her sleep before settling back against his chest. He turned to try and hold her closer, but the sudden change in angle caused his bandaged arm to seize up. He hissed through his teeth, wincing at the stabbing sensations that prickled his arm. While he had been too pumped with adrenaline to feel any discomfort during sex, his injuries were haunting him now.

Jughead screwed his eyes shut to ward off the pain, as well as the memories that were automatically triggered by every twinge and spasm in his body. In all honesty, the blows were nothing compared to the pure, white-hot rage that churned through his veins at the thought of Malachai even _breathing_ near Betty. He’d lost it then, throwing the first punch. Had he not gone unconscious from the loss of blood, he probably would’ve blacked out anyway, from sheer anger.

And even after all that, the nights at the hospital were tortuous. The recovery was a journey in itself, but as FP passed on fragments of Hal’s arrest, Jughead sank further into despair, the memory of the past few months taking on a darker patina as he recounted how distant he and Betty had been during that time, and how incongruous that was with how much they actually needed each other.

Maybe that was why tonight felt heavy with significance, why the happiness between them felt more weighty and consequential. Sure, it was just a night at a hotel, but at the same time, it was so much more than that. It was the freedom of having her all to himself. It was the fact that she so easily claimed his name as her own. It was the two of them leaping joyously on the bed, unbothered by the bedlam and madness of their fucked up town. It was that, even for just one night, they could pretend that this bed was the centre of the universe, that they could make love and ascend a higher reality, out of reach of any darkness below.

Jughead’s mind was gathering momentum now, and it was propelling him towards a decision. He’d been at the fringes of it all night as he swung between pleasure and pain, between the sweet abyss of her body and the jarring reminder of his own frailty. After all, he had nearly died, and so the question that confronted him as he returned to normalcy was simple: if life was going to be this fragile, this thin of substance, who was he going to spend it with?

He only had one answer. And she lay there in his arms.

…

Betty finally woke up, blinking groggily at her surroundings before looking up at Jughead, then smiling as she recognised where she was. “Hey,” she said, her voice husky from sleep. “How long was I out?”

“About an hour,” he replied, before bending to bury his lips in her hair. “You seemed pretty exhausted.”

“Mmm. I am.” She stretched out and yawned. “What gave that away?”

“You were twitching in your sleep.”

She snorted. “That’s attractive.”

“I actually thought it was adorable.”

She turned and pressed a kiss against his chest before placing her hand on his stomach, gently fingering the edge of one of his bandages. “Does this need to be changed soon?” she asked quietly. He had no idea what it would have been like for her, seeing his limp, bloodied body carried out of the woods by his father. But judging from the way her jaw still clenched slightly whenever she made any reference to his wounds, he could probably take a guess.

“Nah, it’s still pretty fresh.”

“Jug….” She frowned. “Are you changing these bandages yourself?”

“It’s... really not a big deal.”

It was hard to maintain a facade of indifference when she turned her piercing gaze on him. He crumbled all too easily. “Okay, fine, I _could_ probably use some help later,” he conceded.

“Good,” she replied. “I’ll help you change it after you shower.”

They settled into a comfortable quiet after that, the hum of the air conditioner the only noise in the room. Jughead drummed his fingers softly against Betty’s arm, wondering when he’d be able to tell her what was on his mind.

“You know, I’d never actually stayed here before,” Betty murmured. “I’ve always wanted to, though.”

“Yeah?” Jughead felt a swell of pride in his chest, knowing that he could give her this - a new experience, and a fairly lavish one at that. “What do you think so far?”

“Well, aside from the horrible customer service...” They both chuckled at that. “Aside from _that_ , it’s been amazing. But that may have more to do with who I’m with rather than where I am.”

“Yes. Absolutely. I can 100% guarantee that this luxurious, well-appointed hotel room has _nothing_ to do with the amazing experience that tonight has been so far. It’s all me.”

Betty laughed. “You know what I mean.”

“I do, yes. Sorry.”

She patted his cheek playfully. “But now that we’re talking about it, though… what made you decide to book this room, Jug? Not that I’m complaining, mind you.”

“I don’t know. Felt like after everything that happened, a night at the Five Seasons might be something you’d enjoy.”

She beamed up at him in response before kissing him.

_Well, Jug. Here it is. All or nothing._

Inwardly, he drew himself up, summoning the courage that he needed to say what was in his heart. “I actually wanted to ask you something.”

She inclined her head at him quizzically before he laid her gently on her back. “Now that I am the _Serpent King…”_

He enunciated it deliberately, and Betty giggled at that. Thank god she had the sense of humour to take the term just as lightly as he did, otherwise he didn’t know how he’d survive the next few months without having someone to laugh at it with. But what he was about to say had no trace of lightness in it at all.

“...I was wondering how you felt about being my queen.”

Silence. Jughead knew that she could feel his heart beating wildly in his chest. At least he _hoped_ that she could hear it, and in it, everything that he wanted to say to her.

She was serene as she pondered the question, her fingers gently caressing his face. “You’re asking me to join the Serpents, Jug?”

He shrugged. “Sorta." 

It was just one word, but it reframed what he said, and as she sat up quickly, he saw that what he said made more sense to her now - that she comprehended its significance, and every other question he had imbued it with:

_Will you be mine? Permanently, indelibly mine, as I already am yours?_

_Will you take me as I am, as you always have, and gladly tie your fate to that?_

_Will you take me for all the dangers and risks that I come with?_

_Will you be strength and courage and light for me when the darkness threatens to swallow me whole?_

_And will you let me in, so that I could be all that for you, too?_

She faced him, staring wide-eyed. “Jug..." 

“You don’t have to answer right now,” he said, worried that he might be scaring her off. “You can take your time, let me know.” He was rambling now, terrified that it had all gone wrong. “Like, tomorrow at lunch… or…”

But she only responded with ecstatic laughter. His heart nearly gave way, and as she moved to kiss him and straddle him against the bed, he heard her answer in the parting of her lips, the movement of her hips against his.

 _Yes,_ she seemed to say, as she pressed herself against his body. _I will be your queen._

...

Jughead’s mind was reeling, and he could barely keep up. 

Betty was everywhere, all over him, and she was flooding his senses with far too much data: the grip of her strong, shapely legs around his waist, her full breasts pressed up against his chest, the sounds of her soft panting in his ear.

He felt like he was going out of his mind. He was trying to process what had just happened, his heart full with the weight of the unspoken promise between them. But already, he could feel all awareness shutting down as biology took over. She wasn’t helping either; she was moving steadily against him, their bodies creating a friction that was sure to bring him to the brink.

No, he couldn’t have that. But at the same time, if he was going to come quickly, he wanted it to be while he was deep in her, her walls tight and shuddering and dripping around his cock. He gripped her waist with his bandaged arm, ignoring the spasms of pain that shot up and down above his elbow.

“Now?” he breathed out.

“Now,” she replied, nodding frantically.

She reached between them, guiding him into her entrance before sliding down. Every sinew in his body had ached for this moment tonight, and as she sheathed him fully, their hips flush against each other, he exhaled, lowering his head onto her shoulder, needing a moment to breathe and take it all in.

She held his face in her hands. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” he panted. “God, Betty. I need you. So fucking bad.”

She brushed a lock of hair away from his face. “I’m here, Jug. I’m yours.”

He bunched her hair in his fists as he drew her in for an intense, passionate kiss. Her hips started moving, and instinctively, he thrust up into her, his length slick with her essence. Her breath was coming out now in short, breathy moans, and all too soon, he felt a familiar rush - the two of them hurtling towards the end far too quickly.

“Jug, can we--”

It was as if she could read his mind. “Slow down?”

“Yes. Please.” She cupped his face in her hands. “I… I just want this all night.”

His insides churned with a roar of pleasure as he heard those words. Jughead could have taken her right then and there - fucked her senseless until both of them were raw and spent on the bed. But she was right: they _needed_ this to last all night, the catharsis of their bodies making up for the pain and struggle of the last few months. His mind was full of ideas, but he only really wanted to do one thing for now. “Lie down,” he said. “On the bed. On your stomach.”

Betty complied, the rosy glow of her body a stark contrast to the deep olive green of the hotel sheets. His body hovered over hers, his battered limbs gingerly holding up his weight, and he started kissing her neck. Down he moved, with his tongue caressing the pliant flesh of her curves. Eagerly, she raised her torso up, and he brought his hands around to take her tits in his hands, his fingers rolling and tweaking her nipples even as his lips never left her skin.

“Yes,” she exhaled. “Oh my god. Yes, Jug.”

He worked his way down until he reached the dimples of her lower back, and his hands moved down to her ass, groping and squeezing their firm roundness before gently urging her forward. “Betty,” he said. “Get on your hands and knees, baby.”

Her head swivelled around coquettishly, giving him a tiny smirk before doing as she was told. He knelt on the bed, taking in the sight of her body on all fours, ready and ripe for the taking. “Good girl,” he muttered. That startled him slightly - he’d never said that before, but it felt _right._ And from the way Betty’s head tilted back in pleasure, it seemed that she liked it, too.

He bent down and nipped at her skin, moving down to her ass and planting small, gentle kisses along its curve, his hands forging their path. She squirmed a little - the new intimacy of the gesture unfamiliar for both of them. “This okay?” he mumbled.

“It’s different,” she conceded, before interjecting -- “But _good_ different.”

He caressed her hip. “You sure?”

“Yes. Keep going.”

Jughead stayed there for a little longer before moving down to the soft inside of her thigh. Betty shivered involuntarily as he kissed his way up, his tongue stopping just short of her pussy. She whined at the interruption, desperate for him to taste her.

“Patience, Betts,” he said. He settled himself underneath her, lying down on his back beneath the arch of her body, his legs dangling off the edge of the bed. Slowly, he used his finger to trace a line from her lips to her neck and then down to her navel, building the anticipation, feeling her tremble beneath his touch.

“Please,” she breathed. “Take me.”

He didn’t need to be told twice. Splaying his hands hands on the back of her thighs, he moved up slowly before gripping her ass and bearing her down, her pussy meeting his eager mouth.

Betty’s knees nearly buckled from the contact, but Jughead tightened his arms around her legs, holding her in place as she gave a throaty, drawn-out moan, the edges of her voice fraying as lust took over. He thrust his tongue upwards, lapping at her juices, tasting her depths, halted only by the shape of her. Experimentally, he withdrew, licking along the folds and at the sensitive nub that he knew electrified her completely.

Whether from pleasure or the tension of her muscles, Jughead could feel Betty’s legs trembling under his grip. She was thrusting against his face, using her knees as leverage, and his mouth was relentless as it tortured and ravished her in equal measure. The end was near, he could tell. He held her legs closer, kept her steady.

“Jug, I… I might…”

He pulled away to reassure her. “I’ve got you, Betts. You won’t fall. You can ride me as hard as you want to.”

Whether it was the effect of his words or the renewed lashing of his tongue at her dripping core, Jughead felt her orgasm building before he even heard her sharp, strangled cry, felt the tightening and quivering of her limbs. He didn’t let up. His tongue was deep in her, tasting her sex. She fell apart with a frenzy that took his breath away, her body contorting as it lay suspended above him, propped up by his mouth and his hands. A series of short, staccato screams gave way to frenzied, breathy moaning as she rode the final, dying waves of her pleasure.

Betty collapsed by his side, still panting. He expected her to say something - she usually did. Some sort of commentary on how good it felt, or how embarrassed she was to have come so ferociously. What he didn’t expect, was this:

“Up. Now. Against the headboard.”

His eyes widened, he scrambled up the bed.

Moments after she impaled herself on him, her legs clenching deliciously around his torso, Jughead prayed that the room next door was empty. He was sure that they’d wake up whoever was in the neighbouring room with the constant banging of the bed against the wall. But all of that was subsumed as he watched Betty rock against him, her eyes closed, abandoned to her desires. At one point, she leaned forward, touching her forehead against his. 

“Jug?” she whispered.

“Yeah?”

A quiet pause. “I love you.” 

He cupped her face in his hand. “I love you, too, Betty.” 

She kissed him, and he kissed her back with an equal ferocity before their rhythm resumed with a renewed passion.

Jughead could feel the tide turning: not only for him, but also for her. He held fast to her hips as she undulated above him, her hair loose behind her tilted head, the long line of her neck exposed. His mind was going blank, and fast. The only motion that mattered now was him thrusting into her, paradise on the brink of explosion, fire upon fire upon fire.

And he thought - tonight of all nights - if he was going to burn, he was going down with one last glimpse of the fervid green of her eyes.

“Look at me,” he panted as he held her face close to his.

Betty opened her eyes, and he saw that they were dark and dilated, full of desire for him. “Keep your eyes on me, okay?” he said. “Even when you come. I want to see you fall apart.”

She nodded, brought her hands up to cradle his face. Their lips parted, grazing each other’s, teeth bared, breath mingled. Her walls were clenching around him now, and he was barely holding onto his sanity. But he trained his eyes on her, determined to see this through. 

Their pace quickened. A sudden, dull pang materialised in his right side - his bruises acting up - but the waves were already lapping at his knees, threatening to take him under. He ignored the pain. Betty exclaimed and gripped his thigh for ballast. Her gaze was glassy, and he knew that it probably mirrored his. He was helpless, so helpless, suspended on the brink of an abyss as he pumped more quickly and desperately into her.

“Jug-- I… I’m… oh god…”

“Betts, hold on--” _Wait for me,_ he screamed in his mind.

“I _can’t--”_

"Baby--”

“JUG.” Her eyes were boring into his, heated and feverish and urgently pulling him into oblivion. With more than a lick of impatience, she clamped down on him, her walls slick and tight, and just like that, he was done for.

“ _FUCK._ ” A long throb of ecstasy pulsed through him, and he felt it in her, too, as they came simultaneously, tumbling into the brink. Past a filthy string of cuss words, he couldn’t form a coherent sentence. Somehow, on the edge of his consciousness, through the dark haze of lust, he saw Betty’s eyes rolling back into her head, her own pleasure a gasping, silent scream that tore through her damp body. 

They came back together with a shuddering sigh, king and queen united as they descended from the heights of their ascension. He opened his eyes and was startled to see a single tear rolling down Betty’s cheek, even as she smiled. Leaning forward, he pressed his mouth against its salty trail. To show her that he understood. To tell her that he was overwhelmed by it, too - the same emotional intensity that was making his heart pound even _now,_ as they sat in repose.

“You okay?” he asked. 

“Yeah,” she whispered back. “Jug?”

“Mmm?” 

“Can we stay here, just like this?”

“Okay.” He kissed her shoulder. “How long?”

“Forever,” she said. “I can stay here with you forever.”

…

As promised, Betty changed his bandages after they came out of the shower.

Jughead watched her in the mirror, her hair still damp, wearing only his ‘S’ shirt which hung loosely on her frame. The joy of their night was now tempered by the sight of her tending to his injuries - a vivid reminder of the chaotic world beyond their room. She was careful as she applied ointment on his shoulder and torso, which bore the brunt of the blows from the Ghoulies. Her eyes were steely and focused, but her fingers shook with the slightest tremor, her horror at his mangled body apparent. It made his heart clench.

He tried to lighten the mood. “Probably should have gone easier on me tonight, right?”

“It’s not funny, Jughead,” she said quietly. 

 _Shit. Stupid._ “I’m sorry. You’re right. It isn’t.” 

She sealed his final bandage, securing its ends with layers of tape. “That should hold it together.”

“Looks good,” he said. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

Betty busied herself cleaning up all the first aid debris off the bed. As he looked at her, his heart swelling with an overwhelming rush of love, he realised something - something that dropped a boulder in his gut. If he was the Serpent King now, then...

“This probably won’t be the last time you’ll be doing this, Betts.”

She shrugged. “Well. It wasn’t the first time, either.”

 _Of course._ Jughead had never forgotten that - that she had tended to his wounds at the trailer, after his first beatdown at Southside High. They were on the verge of being fractured apart at that point, but even through their separation, he would always remember the aching tenderness with which she attended to him that afternoon.

And that was when it occurred to him.

That he may have asked her to be his queen tonight, but she had already said ‘yes’ to him in so many ways, both big and small.

In advocating for his father’s release. 

In fixing up his car in his race against the Ghoulies.

In seeking to join the Serpents.

In braving the cold mornings of his lone protest at Southside High. 

In moving in with him to the trailer.

After all that, did he really have to ask her? When she had already proven, time and again, that she was his queen through and through?

She unexpectedly embraced him from behind, her bare legs on either side of his. “Just so you know… I won’t stop, Jug,” she said.

“Stop? Doing what?”

“Bandaging you up. Covering up your wounds. It hurts me to see you this way, and I hate it.” She exhaled and leaned her head on his shoulder. “But I’ll never stop. If that’s how you need me, then that’s where I am.”

Jughead’s vision blurred. He blinked furiously, startled at the emotions that were taking him over. Taking her hand, he brought her knuckles to his lips, remembering when he had done the same in a booth at Pop’s, when she showed him her scars, her vulnerability. 

Now, he was showing her his. 

“I love you, Betty Cooper,” he said. Her knuckles came away wet with his tears, and she stared at them before kissing him, the softest of kisses.

“I love you, too,” she replied.

As they lay down to sleep, their bodies spent by the night, Jughead held Betty close - more closely than he had before, his arms criss-crossed over her chest, his face nestled into her back. He could have despaired at the dark days ahead, could have mourned the hours that were now counting them down out of the quiet intimacy of their night together.

But instead, he chose the joy of the small things. The smell of her hair. The motions of her breath, running through her body as she slept. The new bruises on his hips, more welcome than the others he’d endured at crueller hands.

It may have been the last gasp of light before another plunge into the darkness, but he’ll take anything he can get.

He blew out the candles on their nightstand. In the dark, the question came back to him again as he danced around the edge of sleep: should he have asked her to be his queen?

Of course. For _her._ To tell her how much she mattered to him. To let her know that he wanted her by his side, indefinitely. To seal in permanence what he had always known to be the deepest love he’d ever experienced.

But for him? The question had long been settled in his mind.

She had always reigned over his heart.

**Author's Note:**

> The ending of 2.22, which gave us the Serpent King and Queen line as well as a steamy scene between our darlings, was ripe to be explored through fan fiction. So many questions arose from the episode: what exactly did Jughead mean when he asked Betty to be his queen? Was it a proposal? More importantly (to purveyors of smut), what did the two of them do between the sheets before AND after that conversation?!
> 
> This is my take on that scene. I believe that Jughead and Betty embarked on a renewed emotional commitment to each other, and that that was provoked by Jughead being confronted by his mortality in the weeks before. I hope the scenes reflect the tenderness of that interpretation, and I hope that the way I've depicted their sex was both hot and indicative of their new intimacy.


End file.
